


Who's the Me That You Can't See?

by withasideofangst



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: (eventually) - Freeform, Albus Dumbledore Bashing, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Dark Harry Potter, Dark not Evil, Don't copy to another site, FYI there might be some deaths MUCH later on, Gen, Harry Potter is So Done, Morally Grey Harry Potter, Multiple Personalities, No beta we die like fred, Obscurial Harry Potter, Sane Voldemort (Harry Potter), Slytherin Harry Potter, Slytherins Aren't Evil, Slytherins Being Slytherins, Somewhat Good Voldemort (Harry Potter), Sort Of, author does not promise to be at all accurate to actual DID or split personalities, but mostly just for canon actions, he's definitely going to die, not sure who yet, other than Quirrell, since eventually there will be some fighting probably, there aren't enough obscurial harry fics
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-11-07
Updated: 2021-02-15
Packaged: 2021-03-09 03:55:06
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 4
Words: 8,727
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27428272
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/withasideofangst/pseuds/withasideofangst
Summary: "Harry Potter," Voldemort began, and then was surprised yet again when the boy had the audacity to interrupt the dark lord."Sorry to disappoint, but Harry's not here right now," Potter said, smirking slightly.---Harry Potter is not an Obscurial.Harry Potterisan Obscurial.Both are technically true-- because in a version of reality where his life is just that little bit worse, Harry Potter is not alone in his head.  He's not even the original.Canon Harry Potter is the split personality, and has no idea there's another personality in his head who is both an Obscurial, and very, very done with all of this nonsense.
Relationships: (also eventually) - Relationship, (eventually), Harry Potter & Slytherin Students, Harry Potter & Tom Riddle | Voldemort, Hermione Granger & Ron Weasley
Comments: 80
Kudos: 411





	1. Prologue: The Resurrection

**Author's Note:**

> I've been planning this for way, way too long, while trying to kick my muse back into gear.
> 
> I have so much planned. You have no idea. I love Obscurial!Harry so much, and I had to write my own.
> 
> The next chapter(s) will backtrack and actually explain the splits from canon, but this one is a scene you'll see again, slightly differently, later...

When Voldemort had finished examining his freshly-robed new body, he stepped out of the cauldron that had facilitated his resurrection, and his attention turned to the boy who had caused him to wander as a wraith for thirteen years in the first place-- and almost immediately his eyes narrowed.

For a moment, the boy looked rightly terrified-- and then suddenly, his body sagged and his head dropped to his chest like a marionette with its strings cut.

A moment later, and the boy raised his head again, but the boy wasn't showing fear, as he had been, and as was expected-- as was only  _ reasonable _ .

No, instead the teenager, despite being roughed up from the maze, and then captured, used against his will in a ritual, and held against a tombstone, was staring at him, head tilted slightly, and his expression only held detached curiosity.

Voldemort looked the boy over, but other than his change in expression and more confident posture, nothing had changed. He was still bound, still  _ wandless _ .

And the boy even had the audacity to study Voldemort in return, blatantly tilting his head as his eyes raked over Voldemort in return, looking merely relaxed and slightly curious.

"Harry Potter," Voldemort began, and then was surprised yet again when the boy had the audacity to  _ interrupt _ the dark lord.

"Sorry to disappoint, but Harry's not here right now," Potter said, smirking slightly.

Voldemort’s eyes narrowed in anger as he strode past the whimpering mass of wizard that was Wormtail, still crying over the stump of his arm, to approach the boy.

“You are Harry Potter,” Voldemort hissed. “Do not think to try and deceive  _ me, _ Potter. My spy has been at Hogwarts all year, reporting your actions back to me and that of your  _ precious _ headmaster.”

And yet, his only reaction was Potter shrugging as best he could while still tied to a gravestone.

“Well, if your spy was any good at his job, he should have noticed at least  _ something _ about me,” the infuriating boy replied dryly. “And the headmaster isn’t my precious  _ anything. _ ”

Potter met the dark lord’s gaze steadily, and Voldemort’s nose flared again slightly as he stepped even closer, and then he reached out and grabbed the boy’s face.

Instead of the burning sensation which he’d felt through Quirrell, Voldemort felt nothing except satisfaction as the boy’s face screwed up in pain instead-- although he did not scream like he had the first time.

That would change, Voldemort thought, as he tilted the boy’s head to force Potter to meet his eyes, jade green staring into scarlet red, and Voldemort used Legilimency to force his way into the boy’s mind.

However, the boy’s mind, while as disorganized as Voldemort had expected, felt  _ wrong _ somehow.

Even as the dark lord flickered harshly through his memories-- seeing flashes of what appeared to be uninteresting muggles, Hogwarts classes, and other trivial memories of an average young wizard-- something changed.

Voldemort could tell something changed inside Potter’s mind, and he realized both that there were more memories hidden behind some sort of mental shield or barrier, different from any he’d encountered before, and beyond it, something  _ darker _ .

Not dark like typical-- or even rare-- dark magic; Voldemort had seen plenty of that, and feared none of it.

No, this darkness was a  _ void _ .

Voldemort’s magic itself seemed to scream out that this void was  _ wrong; unnatural _ .

It was terrifying, to his shock, and he instinctively withdrew from the boy’s mind, although he refused to take even a single step away from the child.

It only took a moment for the dark lord to recover, and then his eyes swept over Potter again.

“ _ What was that? _ ” Voldemort hissed, nearly slipping into Parseltongue, his hand tightening where he still gripped the boy’s face.

Potter had the audacity to smirk slightly, again.

When the boy didn’t respond otherwise, Voldemort found himself distracted by the increased wailing of Wormtail, who had crawled his way over, begging and cradling his bleeding arm.

_ Pathetic, _ Voldemort thought. The miserable wizard hadn’t even attempted to heal the wound himself.

“Wormtail, your arm,” he commanded.

“Oh Master... thank you, Master...” The rat replied, extending his bleeding stump, and Voldemort absently waved his wand, and a silver hand formed over the stump. Wormtail gazed at it in awe, flexing the fingers, before throwing himself at the hem of his robes again, sniveling in gratitude this time.

Unlike the groveling of most of his Death Eaters, Voldemort only felt irritation with the pathetic gratitudes spilling from the wizard, and quickly stunned the wizard to silence him, before returning his full attention to the far more interesting-- and aggravating-- boy.

Voldemort’s nostrils flared slightly and his tongue flicked ever so slightly as he scented the air, trying to sense if the boy was simply faking his cockiness.

To his surprise, there were no signs of fear from the boy anymore, in his scent or otherwise.

“You aren’t afraid of me anymore,” Voldemort finally concluded out loud, looking over Potter again.

One corner of the boy’s mouth twitched upwards.

“No, I’m not afraid. Wary, sure, I’m unarmed and you’ve tried to kill me at least four times before. But no, I’m not afraid of you.” He replied.

Voldemort’s eyes narrowed.

“You  _ were _ afraid, when you first arrived. What has changed since then, Potter?”

The boy only shrugged as best he could.

“I probably would be afraid, but I have... an ace or two up my sleeve. If I survive tonight and we meet again, then I’d be more likely to be afraid.”

“And what would stop me from simply killing you right now? Can this... secret of yours prevent your death now?”

Voldemort pointed his wand at the boy, directly between his eyes, and yet the boy merely shrugged again.

“No. But I’ve heard you were one of the brightest wizards of our time, and I figure that means you’re curious about things you don’t fully understand. Like  _ me _ . Besides, I’m  _ fourteen _ . Really, what threat do I pose to you? I don’t even know why you wanted to kill me when I was a baby, but I’ve never done anything to you personally other than defend myself.”

Voldemort tilted his head as he stared back into Potter’s steady gaze, feeling a flash of bitter amusement.

“You don’t know? The headmaster really hasn’t told you? How  _ predictable _ of him, to send his champion in without even the slightest preparation. And in fact, Mr Potter,  _ you _ were the one to retrieve the stone from the mirror and kill Quirrell, three years ago.”

Potter rolled his eyes.

“Of course Dumbledore doesn’t tell me anything. That would be too  _ easy _ . Not that I’m his  _ anything _ , I told you already. I suppose you also believe he’s been training me to be his little soldier, and I’m as pampered as Draco Malfoy, like the Slytherins all seemed to believe?” The boy snorted. “None of that is true, and I can prove it. As for Quirrell, well... that was partly due to peer pressure, but also... wasn’t exactly me.”

Voldemort reached out to grip the boy’s jaw again.

Potter’s response surprised him, and frustratingly dangled hints of knowledge in front of him, and Voldemort knew that the boy was doing it on purpose. However, there was one detail he wanted to know before any others--

“That is not the first time you’ve claimed to be someone other than Harry Potter,” he hissed. “And yet you  _ are _ Harry Potter.”

Harry Potter just smiled.

“Tell me when you figure it out, would you?”

Voldemort’s fury flared, patience gone, and he coldly intoned, “ _ Crucio! _ ”

Watching the boy writhe against the headstone was satisfying after his glib remarks and lack of fear. Although he still didn’t  _ scream _ , to Voldemort’s faint surprise. Even as his body twisted violently against his bindings and his flailing hands clenched into fists, no noise passed his lips.

When the dark lord finally released the spell, and the boy met his eyes again with grim defiance, Voldemort felt a flare of irritation before he spun around and gripped the unconscious Wormtail’s arm-- his still-intact one-- and forced back Wormtail’s sleeve, revealing the Dark Mark on his skin, like a slightly-faded tattoo.

When Voldemort reached out and touched the mark with his finger, it seared jet black, and if the marked wizard had been awake, he would likely have screamed.

The dark lord paced back over to his captive when the call was complete.

“We shall see if your foolish overconfidence remains in the face of my Death Eaters, Harry Potter... And we shall see which among them is brave enough to return, and who will be foolish enough to stay away...”

They didn’t have to wait long, in silence, before the first Death Eaters appeared, cloaked and masked, Apparating among the graves.

Each one in turn stiffened slightly as they spotted the pale figure of their lord, before they slowly began to approach, forming a wide circle around himself, Wormtail, and the boy.

Voldemort greeted his followers-- those brave enough to return after having renounced their lord-- and afterwards, turned back to the boy, only to note that his attention seemed to have wandered.

Another  _ Crucio _ fixed the inattention.

The boy still did not scream, however, and both the dark lord and the watching Death Eaters were confused by his high pain tolerance. Most of the Death Eaters present couldn’t withstand so long under Voldemort’s wand without a sound.

It made no sense that a child would be able to do so.

When Voldemort ended the curse, he also vanished the ropes binding the boy, who immediately slumped against the ground.

The boy gathered himself and glazed upwards at Voldemort, who was still silently studying him, before glancing rapidly at the Death Eaters surrounding them in a circle, before returning his fearless gaze to Voldemort.

“ _ You are still not afraid, _ ” Voldemort hissed at him, thinking out loud in Parseltongue.

He used Parseltongue partly to enjoy the flashes of fear he sensed from his followers, and yet the boy still did not twitch away in fear like most of wizarding Britain.

Instead, the boy continued to stare blankly at the dark lord.

“You are not what I expected, Harry Potter,” Voldemort finally said in English, breaking the silence.

The boy only smirked again.

“I told you before,  _ Harry’s _ not here right now.”

This time, Voldemort noticed the careful emphasis, and fixated on it.

“Explain,” he demanded, glaring at the boy while idly smoothing his free hand over his wand, clearly willing to use it if Potter wasn’t forthcoming. “You are different than you were three years ago.”

“Of course I am,” Potter replied. “ _ That _ was Harry, who fought you three years ago.”

“But you are not him, or so you claim.” Voldemort stated.

“No, I’m not.”

After a moment of silence, the boy continued to meet Voldemort’s gaze despite the repeated legilimency probe, only for the dark lord to once again sense that unnatural void on the edges of his mind.

Having again failed to discover any of the boy’s secrets, Voldemort tossed Potter’s wand at him, and watched the boy catch it just before it could hit his eye.

The boy eyed it, before slowly pushing himself to his feet.

“Not that I’m not grateful to have it back,” he said, “but  _ why _ do I have my wand back?”

Voldemort stepped back a few paces, and the Death Eaters understood his unspoken command as they widened their circle, leaving plenty of room for Voldemort and Potter in the gaps between the gravestones.

“We shall duel, Potter; Dumbledore’s Golden Boy against the Dark Lord Voldemort, and see if you can survive again, as  _ Harry Potter _ did three years ago,” Voldemort stated.

Yet again, the boy only smirked.

“Oh, this will be much easier than back then,” the boy replied.

Voldemort’s anger flared.

“So  _ brave _ , so  _ overconfident _ ,” he hissed. “Your mother’s protection saved you last time, but  _ now _ I can touch you. So what is this ‘ace’ that will save you this time, Potter?”

The boy’s smirk grew teeth.

“Several things could, but at least this time I only need one,” he taunted the dark lord. “Remember how I said I could  _ prove _ I’m not Dumbledore’s pampered little hero?”

Before Voldemort could curse him for it, or even respond, the boy doubled over, grimacing in apparent pain as he slumped back to his knees.

The boy’s sudden collapse shocked Voldemort, and he had not gathered himself before the boy  _ exploded _ into a large mass of writhing black smoke.

Shouts rang out from the Death Eaters as they backed away, wands raised, but Voldemort didn’t move, although his wand remained raised and pointed in the direction of the smoke.

_ Harry Potter was an Obscurial? _

None of Crouch’s reports had even hinted at such a thing. To most adult wizards even in the years before Voldemort’s temporary disembodiment, Obscurials were nothing more than a dark blight on wizarding history, unheard of in recent years in Britain.

And yet in front of them, Potter’s Obscurial form writhed around the circle of Death Eaters, floating a little in the dark lord’s direction, though not close enough to be considered an attack. A distorted scream echoed from the smoke for a moment, before the smoke swirled and compacted closer together and then burst upwards, over and out of the Death Eaters’ now-scattered circle.

For a moment, Voldemort thought the boy was mindlessly fleeing, until he saw Potter re-form next to the dead boy, near the--

_ Near the portkey, _ Voldemort realized.

The boy smirked in the direction of the dark lord and his followers.

“See you next time,” he called back, before quickly summoning the cup lying a short distance away.

The last thing Voldemort saw of him was a sudden expression of fear sliding over the boy’s face, as he, the dead boy, and the cup vanished back to Hogwarts.


	2. Freak

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> If asked when he first knew he was abnormal, he would not be able to give an answer. As far back as he could remember, there had been a darkness inside of him, which only seemed to grow the more he tried to be “normal.”
> 
> (Years and years later, he would learn this darkness was the Obscurus inside him.)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Woohoo, I'm on a roll with this fic so far!
> 
> Still posting this without a chapter buffer, but I'm going to keep working on chapter 3 right now...
> 
> Also, I will point out that this chapter, and some of the others, are going to be slightly more summary-ish and less "show, don't tell" than I prefer, just because I don't want to retell the parts of the story which don't differ from canon. This chapter in particular is focused on establishing some of the first differences from canon, without dedicating thousands and thousands of words to a story you already know. I'll try to focus more on "show, don't tell" as the story continues and the plot begins to deviate more from canon-- and at some point, that should be the norm.

Number four, Privet Drive, was home to three people who liked to consider themselves the epitome of ‘normal.’

And, of course,  _ Freak _ .

Long before Freak ever learned the terms “magic” or “Obscurial,” he knew he was  _ abnormal _ .

After all, his aunt and uncle told him so, several times a day, in considerably stronger language.

If asked when he first knew it was true, however, Freak would not be able to give an answer. As far back as he could remember, there had been a darkness inside of him, which only seemed to grow the more he tried to be “normal.”

(Years and years later, he would learn this darkness was the Obscurus inside him.)

At the earliest, Freak would be able to say that he’d known the darkness was there before he’d first been allowed to go to school with his cousin Dudley. In fact, it had begun growing within months of the newly-orphaned boy being dropped off at his muggle relatives’. For an Obscurus to develop so early should have been a guaranteed death sentence-- and would have been, if not for one key burst of accidental magic.

One abnormally strong burst of accidental mind magic, after the boy who knew himself only as  _ Freak _ had made the connection that the dark thing inside him made it  _ hurt _ when he tried to be normal, but not being normal made his aunt and uncle hurt  _ him _ , and there were two boys instead of Freak’s head.

Freak, the original, with a darkness inside him.

And someone else, still not quite  _ normal _ like Freak had hoped, but less strange, and without the festering darkness inside him.

At first, Freak called the new boy ‘Boy,’ as Uncle Vernon did when Freak had been slightly less  _ freakish _ than usual.

But after an embarrassing first day of school when Boy had not responded during roll call, and after being laughed at by the other students and scowled at by his teacher-- a stuffy old lady who said he was disrupting the class and she  _ would not have it! _ \-- Freak realized his name was Harry Potter.

However, by this point, Boy was usually the one in control, so Freak decided that he would keep being Freak, and Boy would be Harry Potter.

Boy-- now  _ Harry _ \-- didn’t know any of this, of course.

Harry was entirely unaware that there was someone else in his head, someone who had been there first, or about the darkness. The first few times Freak had taken control again and then returned it to Harry, Harry had been scared, not remembering how he’d ended up in a new place, but Freak quickly learned how to share memories with Harry.

Eventually, Freak learned how to  _ fake _ memories for Harry too.

This came in particularly useful one day, when Harry had managed to escape Dudley and his gang during a game of Harry Hunting, by slipping into the small neighborhood library.

Harry walked around the shelves with no goal other than to avoid attention so as to not be kicked out, but after one of the adults began to eye his loitering a little too closely, Freak took over and found a book from the kids’ section to read quietly in a corner.

The book wasn’t very interesting, filled more with pictures than words, but when Freak was done with the book, he put it back, and seeing that the librarian wasn’t eyeing him anymore, Freak took more care selecting another book.

This time, the book had bigger words he hadn’t seen before, and Freak eventually had to find a dictionary and lug the heavy book into the corner so he could look up all the words he didn’t know. It took a long time, but Freak enjoyed it, for once.

He’d already learned that his aunt and uncle didn’t like it when the teachers at school said he was doing better than Dudley at  _ anything _ , though, so Freak gave Harry a memory of slipping back out of the library and hiding alone in a park instead of reading. When the fake memory was enough to keep Harry from realizing where he’d really spent the day, Freak decided to do it again.

Freak still had to be careful-- he had chores to do for his aunt and uncle, and he couldn’t always get away from the house or from Dudley and his gang to slip away to the library unnoticed, but whenever he could, he would, and within a few years, while most of his yearmates were beginning to learn basic maths or times tables and starting to write book reports, Freak was reading anything he could get his hands on in the library.

One of the librarians liked to call him a  _ voracious reader _ , and after he’d looked up the word, Freak liked it. He did his homework in the library too, checking it over and over until he was sure it was right, and then throwing it out so Harry could do it again later to actually turn in something that wouldn’t get them in trouble for being smarter than Dudley.

Once Freak realized that someone had donated old copies of school books to the small library, too, he read those too. Doing so made school even more boring, since Freak knew most of the material, but at school Harry was always the one in charge, and Freak was essentially almost asleep in the back of their head, so at least he could ignore it, mostly.

Even then, sometimes weird things still happened around them, like when the mean teacher’s hair turned blue, or they found themselves on the roof of the school when they’d been trying to escape Dudley and his gang during recess-- although Freak was pretty sure that one was his fault. Harry wasn’t managing to get away, and the bruises they’d received from yesterday’s game of Harry Hunting still hurt, and he just  _ didn’t want to be hurting all the time _ \-- and then, suddenly, there was a loud noise, and they were on the roof. They’d gotten in trouble for it, of course, even more than usual since Aunt Petunia and Uncle Vernon were called and he’d gotten suspended at school  _ and _ beaten and locked in his cupboard with no meals until the weekend, but that wasn’t what worried Freak.

What worried him was the blood he’d coughed up that evening, after spending the rest of the day having to push down the darkness harder than usual, since it was  _ straining _ to burst out of him. Lying in the cupboard that night, Harry already asleep inside his head, Freak had a restless night trying to stop the darkness from doing... whatever it was trying to do.

Freak didn’t know exactly what that was, but he knew the darkness always felt stronger when he was hurt or angry, and he guessed it would probably try and hurt the Dursleys. He wouldn’t mind that so much if he didn’t know he would probably just get in more trouble afterwards-- Dudley’s gang always hurt Harry more whenever he actually tried to fight back, after all-- and besides, the darkness hurt Freak, too. For most of that night, Freak was having such a hard time not letting the darkness go, that the tips of his fingers had even started dissolving into tiny wisps of what looked like black smoke, although more solid and defined than normal smoke, and his hands shook with the effort.

And the whole time, it  _ hurt _ .

When morning finally came, and Harry woke up so Freak could give him control again, Freak didn’t come out for more than two weeks, retreating back into their mind like an animal into its den.

Even though those weeks drove Freak crazy as he watched Harry struggle in school, covering subjects Freak had already long since covered on his own, and never once going to the library or picking up a book other than for school.

Freak knew it was at least partly his fault that Harry wasn’t interested in reading, although mostly it was the Dursleys’, since they were the ones  _ conditioning _ Harry (he’d read that word in a book on basic psychology at the library, looking up the meaning under the vaguely concerned eye of the librarian, who luckily didn’t actually stop him from reading it, already used to his varied and unusual interest in subjects) to do poorly in school, just like their son.

Knowing that didn’t make watching Harry struggle to do basic times tables any less boring, though.

\---

Eventually, because he’s not stupid, Freak guessed that the weird things that happened around both he and Harry were likely  _ magic _ .

It seemed fantastical, and unreal, and Freak might not have believed it if it weren’t for his aunt and uncle’s absolute  _ hatred _ of any sort of book, tv show, or movie even mentioning the subject.

Even when Dudley threw a  _ massive _ tantrum at an amusement park-- which Freak and Harry only heard about afterwards, of course, left behind with the weird old cat lady Mrs Figg, who both Freak and Harry thought had a few screws loose and at one point, she’d even almost mixed up one of her cat’s food bowls and his cup of tea and nearly passed him the former-- when he hadn’t been allowed to go get his fortune told by an old lady with a crystal ball and too many shawls, Aunt Petunia and Uncle Dursley hadn’t relented.

That was probably the closest Freak or Harry had ever seen his aunt and uncle come to grounding his cousin, actually.

And, to Freak at least, it was totally a giveaway, considering how usually Dudley was given anything and everything he wanted.

Knowing that he was  _ magic _ didn’t change anything for Freak, however.

Putting a name to the freakishness made him consider that he might not be the only magical person in the world, of course, and given Aunt Petunia’s hatred for Freak’s parents matched her hatred for magic, he guessed that they were likely magical too, but that didn’t change the fact that he still couldn’t use it without being punished. (It did, however, also make him realize that the stories of his parents being useless layabouts and dying in a car crash were likely lies. But again, that didn’t change anything in his daily life.)

It did, however, mean that Freak spent several weeks of his sneaked library time reading any and every book mentioning magic that he could find.

(It didn’t escape his notice, either, that the librarians seemed much more comfortable with his latest reading choices than some of his previous ones.)

Most of the books disagreed on the specifics of magic and how it worked, and there were plenty of contradictions and aspects that were both wonderful and terrible about magic, but Freak was still fascinated.

Unfortunately, not a single book mentioned anything which could explain what exactly the darkness inside him was.

Despite his new realizations, life didn’t change much for either Freak or Harry, although during some of the Dursley’s worst punishments, Freak learned how to  _ magic _ the lock on his cupboard into opening at night, so he could sneak food from the fridge.

He could only take small amounts without it being noticed, but when he was always found in the morning, still in his cupboard with the door once again locked, the Dursleys could never prove it was him.

Aunt Petunia had thrown suspicious glances at Harry once or twice the next morning after one of his food heists, but for once their luck actually seemed to hold out, and his aunt seemingly chalked up any suspicions of missing food to his cousin or uncle sneaking a midnight snack (or an entire meal, by Harry and Freak’s standards).

Otherwise, life was much the same, although Freak once again got confirmation there  _ had _ to be other magical people out there (or something odd, at least) when, a couple times while Harry was being forced to push the grocery cart around for Aunt Petunia while on their infrequent larger shopping trips into London itself, for some ingredient or other than their local grocers didn’t carry, a complete stranger would seem to recognize Harry--  _ how?!? _ \-- and nodded or once even  _ bowed _ in his direction.

Harry never seemed to notice, but Freak was paying closer attention to these strangers, and they were usually slightly oddly dressed, and sometimes even seemed to vanish into thin air when no one else was paying attention.

If Aunt Petunia noticed the strangers at all, she immediately got a pinched look on her face and rushed them away, but never said a word as to why.

Being  _ recognized _ , however, suggested that either other magical people could tell who was magical on sight, which seemed unlikely since Freak certainly couldn’t tell, other than the fact that several of the nodding-people seemed to wear outdated or just  _ weird _ clothing, or that Freak in particular was somehow noticeable.

It was worrying, and Freak stewed on the thought often, but again had no way to confirm or deny anything. He’d never managed to actually speak to any of the people who recognized him, after all.

In short, Harry continued on, unaware of Freak’s bouts of control over their body or his growing suspicions about the existence of a magical world hidden around them.

Until the week before their eleventh birthday, when the first letter came, and everything changed.


	3. The Magical World

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Freak was not impressed.
> 
> (AKA, Harry and Freak finally are introduced to the magical world, and Freak makes several observations that Harry misses.)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry this one took a while to get out! Most of my ideas are for future chapters; it was hard to get this one written to a level I was okay with posting. Hopefully it'll pick up once Harry actually gets to Hogwarts (and even more-so when he can actually start deviating from the plot).
> 
> In case anyone missed it, since it didn’t get mentioned outright (because nothing happened): the vanishing glass and the freeing of the snake _did not happen_ at the zoo. Make of that what you will.
> 
> (This chapter wasn't proof-read; please point out if you find anything I missed!)

Freak was not impressed with the half-giant Hagrid.

Yes, Harry had been pleasantly surprised and happy when the man-- the _wizard_ \-- had given Dudley a pig’s tail, and it was amusing... If one didn’t consider that the Dursleys were going to be _furious_ later, and it was clear the half-giant wasn’t going to stick around forever to stop their aunt and uncle from retaliating.

Besides, if Freak hadn’t already been aware of magic, this would have been quite a poor first impression. Hagrid hadn’t actually told him much of substance, anyway, other than revealing to Harry that magic was real, their parents had also been a witch and a wizard, and-- most importantly to Freak-- that both Hagrid and a man named Dumbledore, the same man mentioned on his Hogwarts letter as the headmaster of the school, along with several other important-sounding titles (and now Freak had a list of magical terms to look up at first chance), had been there when he was _left_ on his aunt and uncle’s doorstep with only a letter.

Harry hadn’t paid much attention to that bit of information, but Freak was _angry_.

And also more than a little confused, because who on earth let a groundskeeper and a headmaster of a school determine where a newly-orphaned boy was placed? Surely there would be some sort of due process to re-home him... a reading of wills, or a magical relation to leave him with, or even simply some sort of a delay between when his parents were, apparently, _murdered_ and when he was left with guardians who didn’t want him, without even alerting them in person of the situation-- and that, more than anything, made Freak suspect that this Dumbledore, at least, _knew_ the Dursleys were not going to want custody of their nephew-- and then never checked on again.

Something fishy was going on, and it stank something fierce.

Those suspicions also made Freak immediately wary of any other news imparted by the half-giant. While he seemed friendly enough, it was clear both by his mentioned involvement with _leaving a baby on a doorstep on Dumbledore’s orders at the start of November_ and now once again being sent by the same man, whose praises he couldn’t stop shouting, that this man was supposed to endear Harry Potter to Dumbledore. The same Dumbledore who had told Hagrid that there might be some trouble fetching Harry Potter from the Dursleys-- which meant he had to at least suspect that something wasn’t quite, well, _normal_ about Harry Potter’s life with the Dursleys.

And yet on Harry, the manipulations were working. Freak, on the other hand...

And that wasn’t even mentioning the bits of information about “Harry Potter” being famous in the wizarding world, everyone knowing his story and his name-- and apparently, his face as well, which struck him as extremely creepy given that no magical person had ever contacted him since he was left at the Dursleys, and yet he was recognized by grown strangers in shops, who he now knew for certain were definitely wizards and witches. How exactly did they know what he looked like, beyond his general hair and eye color from when he was an infant?

He was the Boy Who Lived, famous for killing (or at least defeating, since Hagrid even admitted that he didn’t believe the man was dead, and such an idea surely came from Dumbledore) the dark wizard Voldemort, or You-Know-Who, or He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named (the wizards sure seemed to love their hyphens, Freak noted), despite no one witnessing the event or knowing what exactly happened.

Yes, Freak was not impressed at all.

He did, despite all that, manage to enjoy the experience of walking through Diagon Alley, despite the crowds, due to the amazing (and often ridiculous) sights of magic being openly used around him.

The first stop was Gringotts, the wizarding bank, and Freak had to clench his fists to hide the wisps of smoke his fingers were turning into when he learned his parents had left him money and some of their belongings, and this Dumbledore, and now Hagrid, _had his key_ (well, no longer; Freak was not going to let anyone have his key again) and no one had ever told him about any of this. He had gotten a strong glance from the goblin teller while doing so, and Freak wondered if he could somehow tell there was something wrong with him. However, the goblin said nothing, and Freak wasn’t about to ask.

Instead, after the goblin Griphook opened his vault, and Hagrid explained what the Galleons, Sickles, and Knuts were, and helped him pile some into a bag, Freak quickly took over and scooped more of the coins, and all of the small amount of muggle money he saw off to the side, into a second bag he carefully shoved into his pockets.

Sure, Hagrid had said what he’d filled the first pouch with should last a couple terms, but Freak wasn’t sure he trusted that since he still didn’t know what Galleons or the rest were worth in muggle money, and he didn’t have _anything_ at the Dursleys’. And they certainly weren’t going to help him return to Gringotts to get more if he ran out; if they had any idea his parents had left him money he had access to, he doubted their hatred of all things magical would extend to his money, and it would all be gone immediately anyway.

Now he just needed to figure out a better way of hiding it from the Dursleys when he returned. He refused to leave the Alley until he found _something_.

Freak didn’t particularly care about the second vault they went to, other than wondering why anyone would have sent Hagrid on an important job, particularly while showing a student around the magical world for the first time.

Freak had no desire to get involved, despite Harry’s curiosity, but he reluctantly decided to pickpocket the man if given a chance, just long enough to figure out what the item probably was. After all, he was probably _supposed_ to be interested, if he was a typical young boy. Clearly, Dumbledore thought he was an idiot.

\---

Clearly, Hagrid was _also_ an idiot, Freak reflected, as Hagrid split off to have a pint (or several) at the Leaky Cauldron, leaving an eleven-year-old alone to buy his robes.

“Hogwarts, dear?” A smiling witch, Madam Malkin, judging by the name badge pinned to the front of her mauve robes, asked when he entered. “Got the lot here-- another young man being fitted up just now, in fact.”

There was, indeed, a pale boy with blonde hair in the back of the shop, standing on a stool while another witch pinned robes around him. Madam Malkin stood Harry on the stool next to the boy, slipped a robe over his head, and began pinning it as well.

“Hello,” said the boy, “Hogwarts too?”

Freak paid only a cursory amount of attention to the conversation, uninterested, although he, unlike Harry, agreed with the boy’s suggestion that Hagrid was a bit savage-- he was friendly, for sure, but not exactly smart, from what he’d seen, and had already done magic in front of a child after admitting he wasn’t allowed to use it.

Freak tuned out until Harry was asking Hagrid questions about what the boy had been saying, and he had to fight not to narrow his eyes when the subject of muggles came up again--

“--and he said people from muggle families shouldn’t even be allowed in--”

“Yer not _from_ a muggle family. If he’d known who yeh _were--_ he’s grown up knowin’ yer name if his parents are wizardin’ folk. You saw what everyone in the Leaky Cauldron was like when they saw yeh. Anyway, what does he know about it, some o’ the best I ever saw were the only ones with magic in ‘em in a long line o’ muggles-- look at yer mum! Look what she had fer a sister!”

Harry had let the subject change immediately to Quidditch, but Freak noted that for all Hagrid was saying, he still was looking down on the muggles themselves, backed up further by how he’d been acting on the train ride to London earlier-- gawking around at even basic muggle inventions, not even trying to understand how their “money worked”... Freak was willing to bet these were common opinions. Even the ones claiming they didn’t mind if you came from magic or not probably actually _did_ , on some level.

And then, of course, Freak listened to Hagrid claiming an entire house of students at Hogwarts were evil.

Seriously? _Conditioning._ And it was working...on Harry.

Freak really needed to see if there were any books that would be less biased than the half-giant.

Luckily, Hagrid mostly left him alone to wander in the store, since the half-giant had a _much_ harder time maneuvering between the shelves. Long enough, at least, for Freak to slip away and grab a few owl-order forms he saw on a table off to the side, and a bag the clerk explained was charmed to be featherlight and bottomless. He’d seen the size of some of the books Hagrid was carrying for him; he’d much prefer not having to feel the weight of dragging them around all day.

In every store they entered, Freak made sure to grab a few owl-order forms and hide them, in case he needed anything else before he could return to the Alley again.

One of their last stops, their arms only not laden with bags by this point because of the bottomless bag (although, unfortunately, the pewter cauldron didn’t fit in the opening, so Hagrid was carrying that), was a trunk shop, and as soon as Harry’s eyes had passed over a sign that said “self-shrinking” trunks, Freak took over.

Hagrid had stayed near the front of the shop, near what he gathered were the standard Hogwarts school trunks, but he didn’t seem to mind his charge wandering off, so Freak headed straight for the nearest clerk, carefully flattening his hair down over his forehead first to hide the identifying scar.

“And what can I do for you, young man?” The elderly wizard asked, as soon as he was spotted.

“I’m just starting Hogwarts, so I’ll need a school trunk, but I wanted to know, I already have a featherlight and bottomless bag-- are there similar trunks?”

The clerk’s eyes gleamed slightly in anticipation of a sale, and he began rattling off the various charms they offered.

Some were frankly ridiculous-- why on earth would he want a trunk that had legs and could run off without him?-- and others vastly too expensive (as nice as it would be to own a trunk he could basically use like an apartment, it cost far more than the Galleons he had on hand, even in both bags, and he at least had the bottomless bag already), but some charms were dead useful, and not _too_ expensive. Freak knew exactly what he wanted, particularly the anti-theft and self-shrinking charms (why the latter wasn’t standard for anyone living around muggles, he didn’t understand; the trunks weren’t exactly _subtle_ ), and when a quick glance around for Hagrid showed him still looking around a wall covered in letter plates for the trunks, he quickly bought a plain, dark brown trunk with brass fastenings, and featherlight, anti-theft, and self-shrinking charms on it. A tap of his wand on the lid, and the thing shrank so it was small enough for him to slip into his pocket, before wandering over to Hagrid with the clerk, so he could finish buying a standard school trunk as well.

The clerk seemed just a little confused by the dual purchases, but not enough to ask any questions, to Freak’s relief.

Freak only pushed Harry back to take control twice during the trip; once to reach into Hagrid’s coat pocket long enough to feel that whatever he’d gotten from Gringotts, it was hard like a rock and wrapped in some sort of soft leather; however he couldn’t pickpocket it fully without being noticed; and once when trying out wands in Ollivander's, as soon as the man had said _the wand chooses the wizard_ . There was no way he wanted a wand attuned to _Harry_ , and not _Freak_.

When they ended up with the brother wand to Voldemort’s, Freak...wasn’t sure what to think of that. He paid seven Galleons for the wand, and a few more Sickles for a holster he could strap to his arm under a shirt, and then they were done.

Then it became clear that Hagrid was going to leave him on a train back home on his own, and Freak sighed internally, after taking the opportunity to palm some of the change in bills, when Hagrid left him to handle the muggle money again when buying a ticket, just as he had on the way there.

He was alone, with a large trunk and an owl, headed back to the Dursleys’ when technically, he didn’t even know for sure that they had already returned to Privet Drive, considering Hagrid had stolen their boat.

_No, Freak was not impressed._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I do acknowledge that Freak’s vocabulary and thought process is probably a bit advanced, but 1. he is actually quite smart; he reads a lot, and quickly, when he manages to get to a library, or can get books at school, and 2. I was also a massive bookworm as a kid, so I’m basing that bit a little on how I was around that age. And yes; I knew roughly what sort of thing goes on regarding how people get custody of children at that age, so I was fine with him being suspicious of Dumbledore having any say in that whatsoever.
> 
> And yes, he’s basically suspicious of everything related to Dumbledore right now. Freak can really hold a grudge.
> 
> Also, upon rereading the relevant canon chapter, I realized Hagrid left an eleven year old alone on a train to go back to the Dursleys, and it’s not actually mentioned if he had Harry go back to the hut they’d run off to, where Hagrid fetched Harry, or if he sent Harry back to Privet Drive... *sigh* I ended up going with Privet Drive even though Hagrid stole their boat rental, because how the hell was he going to manage to get back to the hut alone, with a trunk and an owl...


	4. Summer's End

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I swear at some point I’ll actually get to write “show, don’t tell” scenes. I cringe every so often cause I keep doing the opposite in this fic, but it seems the best way to keep getting to when Freak can actually start changing the plot. Be honest, is it driving you guys nuts, or it’s tolerable? I can’t think of a better way to “skip past” the parts of canon I’m not actually changing. I managed to add some short ones here, at least!

The rest of Freak’s summer was actually quite pleasant, by his standards, although Harry didn’t seem to find it fun; he was essentially ignored by the Dursleys, and Dudley had gained the amusing habit of running out of whatever room Harry or Freak happened to be in, if they so much as spoke a word.

He spent almost the entire time in his new bedroom, and to Freak and Harry’s shared relief, the Dursleys’ newfound fear of him allowed the newly-named Hedwig to have free reign to come and go whenever she wished, via his bedroom window.

Freak had been pleasantly surprised by how intelligent their new owl seemed to be, when he first took control again in her presence, and she immediately seemed to notice a difference.

\---

Freak looked at the snowy owl, and was met with a sharp gaze, even though she had been dozing moments before.

“Hello, Hedwig,” he murmured, and her head tilted as she continued to stare at him. After a moment, she hooted softly, and he took that as a sign that it was safe to extend a hand and gently pet her feathers.

She didn’t retaliate, so he figured she’d accepted him. She’d already done the same for Harry.

“You can tell I’m different, can’t you, girl?”

She looked at him again and hooted softly again, before nipping a little at his hair, trying to groom it into place for a moment.

His mouth twitched into a smile at the action.

“Can you only deliver packages to me, if I’m the one who ordered it? Only bring things to me if I’m alone?” He asked.

She gave another hoot, he was fairly sure as confirmation, and Freak hoped that he might not have to adjust Harry’s memories every time he owl-ordered something. He’d already considered that such a thing would be fairly impossible if he ordered something at Hogwarts and she delivered it to Harry around other people; he couldn’t easily change  _ their _ memories at will, after all.

\---

Even without Freak’s intervention, Harry spent a lot of time reading his new school books. Harry, to Freak’s frustration however, didn’t actually take notes on any of it. Freak, at least, had a very good memory, but even he took actual notes on spells or other details which seemed useful or important, written in a notebook which he hid from Harry in their bottomless school bag. Harry did not have the same good memory, and Freak held no small irritation for his lack of forethought, even though he knew to expect it from the Dursleys’ conditioning.

In addition to reading the school books, however, Freak also did a little more on his own, making use of his resolution to not let Harry, or the Dursley’s conditioning, keep him from learning as much as he could.

It began with Freak writing a short note to Flourish & Blotts, after reading through the owl-order list of available books. (The many titles left him practically rubbing his hands together in anticipation.) He’d already found several books he was interested in, such as a few books in a series amusingly titled  _ For Muggleborns _ , which Freak guessed had to be written by muggleborns familiar with the  _ For Dummies _ series of books. He’d marked all of those to order, covering subjects like how to write with a quill, some basic potions and ingredients knowledge, and the most basic rules of the magical world relevant to new Hogwarts students, along with other books such as  _ Hogwarts, A History _ . (He was hoping the last might be less biased than Hagrid had been about the houses.)

The note simply asked the store clerks what other books  _ they _ would recommend for a muggleborn entering the wizarding world for the first time.

The reply arrived via Hedwig-- and to his relief, it seemed she  _ had _ understood his request, because she brought it to him when Freak was already the one in control, studying in their bedroom-- along with all the books he’d ordered, shrunken and charmed light enough for her to carry, mostly naming books he’d already marked in the order form, along with a few more, with information such as the basics of banking with Gringotts, and short explanations of the different magical areas of study and what common careers one could choose as a result.

Freak quickly ordered those as well with the new enclosed owl-order form, and began making his way through his new purchases.

Most of the knowledge, he kept for himself, but he shared the techniques on how to write with a quill with Harry, even though he hid  _ how _ they’d gotten that knowledge.

Freak knew Harry was not likely to even consider questioning how he knew; and even if he did, Freak could prevent it. At least their homework would be legible.

\---

Freak only came out for one other reason that summer; when his aunt and uncle went into London to buy Dudley’s new school uniforms, they brought him along when he politely but firmly asked. (He was, admittedly, somewhat surprised it had been that easy, but he’d bet that their fear of him might prevent them from saying no, and it seemed he was correct.)

While they were stuck in the uniform shop, having to custom-order Dudley’s size since it wasn’t in stock, Freak slipped away to a nearby used clothing store, and bought a few plain sets of trousers, shirts, and sweaters, which actually fit him far better than Dudley’s years-old cast-offs. He made sure to buy a few plain t-shirts which were only slightly too large as well, which he could ‘gift’ to Harry still disguised as hand-me-downs, as well.

He paid for the small lot with the muggle money he’d filched from when Hagrid had him handle buying their tickets, as well as the muggle money he’d found in his vault as Gringotts, stuffed the couple bags into his bottomless bag that he’d brought along as soon as he was outside and out of view of any muggles, and then hurried back to where his relatives were still at the uniform shop, and he quietly waited for them to finish at a distance.

It hadn’t taken long, and Freak was pleased that he and Harry would both have  _ something _ to wear of their own, outside of their school uniforms.

\---

When, at the end of the summer, Harry successfully managed to get a ride into London again from their uncle, in order to catch the Hogwarts Express, Freak watched, but didn’t take control.

One of the  _ For Muggleborns _ books had mentioned how to get onto the train platform, so he was waiting to see if Harry would need the help or not, but when he overheard a witch loudly talking about the platform number-- and internally, Freak’s paranoia reared its head in deference to the  _ blatant violation of the Statute of Secrecy _ , which he’d also read about-- Harry managed to get onto the platform, and then the train, without Freak’s help.

When one of the red-headed sons of the same witch earlier showed up in his train compartment later, with an excuse that all the other compartments were full--  _ really? _ Freak doubted that, since that would be incredibly poor planning on the parts of whoever ran both Hogwarts and the train-- and between him and the bushy-haired girl (Ron Weasley and Hermione Granger, respectively, he learned), the virtues of Gryffindor--  _ Dumbledore’s _ old house-- were espoused, and Slytherin was once again mentioned negatively (and as Voldemort’s house), only reinforced by the blonde Slytherin-hopeful from the robe shop entering, introducing himself as Draco Malfoy, and promptly irritating both Ron and Harry while Freak watched in idle indifference.

(It also hadn’t escaped Freak’s notice that Weasley spoke of his only muggle relative in a dismissive way, similarly to Hagrid, or that the girl, Granger, mentioned that she’d tried a few spells already-- how? On the train? They weren’t allowed to do magic outside of school, according to everything he’d read or been told, when in the presence of muggles.)

Freak knew from  _ Hogwarts, A History _ , that the house rivalry particularly between Gryffindor and Slytherin was real, particularly in the last few decades, but outside of current students and recent graduates-- and really, outside of those two houses in particular-- one’s school house ceased to matter nearly so much.

However, either there were an absurd number of coincidences taking place, or someone (and Freak was betting on Albus Dumbledore) had done their best to make sure at  _ minimum _ Hagrid would encourage him to join Gryffindor in particular, and to steer him away from Slytherin. (Freak was willing to admit that both Granger and Malfoy were probably coincidences, but while he wasn’t sure how it could have been rigged, Harry’s first chocolate frog card ending up as Albus Dumbledore was  _ creepily _ convenient.)

Freak knew he was easily a match for either Ravenclaw or Slytherin, and even Harry, Freak could see as practically any house  _ other _ than Gryffindor based on his past attitude, although with the conditioning from the Dursleys to do poorly in school, Hufflepuff or Slytherin would probably fit better than Ravenclaw, unless he decided to study more, like Freak did.

Freak didn’t like how this was going. He knew Harry wouldn’t see through the possible coincidences like he had; he could  _ feel _ Harry starting to want to be in Gryffindor, and starting to think badly of Slytherin. Freak could, of course, influence him otherwise, or make sure that he, Freak, was the one being sorted instead of Harry...

But he was an eleven year old, on his own, and if someone (Dumbledore) wanted him in a particular house that badly... Well, Freak thought it might be easier to let him have his way for now, and see how things went, rather than disrupt things so soon.

Who knew, maybe he was just being needlessly paranoid, and Harry would have a normal year at school, and nothing would happen which would require him to act like a “brave” Gryffindor, and Freak would be proven wrong.

But Freak couldn’t shake the feeling that that wasn’t going to happen.

As the train ride ended, Freak made sure his shrunken second trunk was safely in the pocket of his school uniform, while Harry left their school trunk to be brought up to the castle, and in the small boats, then finally got their first view of Hogwarts.

Harry thought it was beautiful, and was filled with awe, feeling like maybe, he’d finally found a place that he could feel at home.

Freak was also filled with awe, but tempered with paranoia because their life never was that easy. He wasn’t sure if the castle would be a new home, or just another prison, with new faces.

\---

As the sorting hat was put on their head, Freak retreated, hiding himself further back in their head than he ever had before.

Luckily, the hat didn’t seem to notice him, as it only spoke to Harry. This far buried in their head, Freak wasn’t aware of what was going on around them, but he could still listen to the hat and Harry talk, and Freak felt a pang of amusement when Harry also had to argue against Slytherin.

It seems they had one thing in common, at least, then.

However, Harry’s pleading for Gryffindor worked, and with a shout of  _ GRYFFINDOR _ , the hat was removed, and Harry headed for their new house’s table.

Freak stole a glance at the head table as they sat down, and saw the infamous Dumbledore himself, smiling and clapping along with most of the other teachers and students, and Freak retreated back to nurse his paranoia in silence, while Harry and the other students, once the sorting finished, began to eat.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I’m not in love with this chapter; it fought being written, but we’re finally at Hogwarts! I’ll still brush over the parts of canon that won’t change, but Freak is definitely going to stick his head up more, starting soon!


End file.
